Escape from the Yukon

My first introduction to the area was during my school career. It was one of the thoughts that flashed through my mind as I surfaced on this cold, autum morning. The other was the dream I had just managed to extricate myself from - the way things were – in the days of yore. There was something missing in my life and when I reviewed how I felt – I was happy to be in the country and rough it in Nature but the modern world had disintegrated all my dreams of those wonderful thoughts right there with my waking musings on life.

I had spent that last many months in the Yukon completing a work on the Ungulates of the Northern Countries.

This is what the Net had to say about the Territory where I had spent many arduous months tracking and logging deer and their close relatives through mountain and snow and icy cold winds: It is a territory that has more moose than people.

‘ The Yukon is a territory of northwest Canada east of Alaska. It joined the Confederacy in 1898. The region was first explored by fur traders in the 1840s and was acquired by Canada from the Hudson’s Bay Company in 1870. A land claim made by the Yukon tribe of Native Americans was approved by the federal government in 1991. Whitehorse is the capital and the largest city. Population: 23,153.’

I had woken as from a dream and after my shower and a jolt of good, strong Arabica coffee; I realized these were not the things of dreams – these were real experiences that I was living and creating. It was hard to come to grips with it. I had lived here and knew the plants and animals but there was something missing.

Jordan was a man close to my heart – tough, seasoned-outdoors, a man that had been a logger in his youth and early manhood. He accompanied me through the area for most of the research that I had done with the moose and caribou in these Northern lands and we, both Americans, were living in Sweden now bar the time we spent in the Yukon.

We had made a few decisions, they were almost desperate moments even rash, to get out of the civilized urban rush some time in November before the real cold set in. It was said there would be an early start to the winter this year and things were changing on the planet. The subject was still new, but many were already talking serously about global warming as a real subject.

On this day in question we had left the cabin and the weather was cooling, the sky was overcast, as we passed by the rupture in the rock that we had been keeping close watch on. There was a decided change in the area. We could hear a gutteral grinding and deep, loud gushing of water.

The circumstances were these. We had a very good location high in the rock and ice and what there was of forest at that height. We had been coming back to this location for the last few years as this was the best site to venture out from and was within easy access of all the areas of the Yukon we needed to travel to.

The cabin was raw, rough and well used. But there was a lot of wood and the structure was well made and did not have wind drafts anywhere in it. So one could sleep even in a blizzard without being rained on or eating snow crystals in bed. You could say; complacency had set in with us accepting the safeness of the log cabin. Our routine became an enjoyment that I had not known before, in which we both explored the wild, in a cacoon of selfish pleasure. It was something neither of us wanted to end.

But today there was more than just the ominous growl from the earth below.

The gushing water – when we inspected it at the source was more than just the sound, it was the volume and extreme pressure of the water that was being forced up from below through the rock in the cliff face. Above was a stand of huge pine trees many years old and they leaned slightly. Running through the whole area were the main gas pipes to other cities further east and the major power grid inland.

It was a moment when one feels very insignificant against the colossal force of nature and Earth’s elements as a human. The sheer mass of the rock and the power of the water which had begun to fracture the cliff so fast, that we felt threatened just being in the Yukon at all. The heights and the distances made one pale with awe and wonder at the vastness of our planet against a human scale when one is so close to a natural phenomena of this nature.

The first mighty tree was canting, roots exposed and shaking. It was leaning dangerously over the power line. Rock fragments the size of cars were being spewed out over the cliff into the river and the drumming of the water sounded like an approaching avalanche.

Jordan looked at me and I had already been watching him – so his eyes met mine full on as he turned. There was shock and urgency to be read right there. I did not need more warning than what I had observed and that look from Jordan to know there was one thing left to do. Run! Escape! But fast!

We never went back to the cabin to retrieve our belongings. We both turned and ran back to the ropes on the cliff to abseil down to the four-wheel drive in the forest below. I saw the first tree fall with the blue flashes as the overland cables parted.

Jordan had the vehicle bouncing through the rough terrain and we saw the side of the cliff part and majestically, in slow motion, slide into the valley creating a dust cloud that slowly spread and ascended into the cold morning light.

The vehicle roared and skipped a beat every bump we hit as the wheels left the surface and spun freely before hitting the surfac again and propelling us forward in our determined effort to get out safely.

We were now in the valley next to the river into which the stream of pressurized water was pouring down the canyon just behind us. Already the river had risen above the highest watermark for the season and covered that of the day before when we had come up the valley.

We had another 20 minutes before we would reach the low water bridge where we’d have a choice of crossing the canyon – east, or taking the safe way out on the western bank, but we had to get there first as there was no way out of the river bed until then – well not with the Landrover.

We struck a sharp jutting rock that almost overturned the vehicle in its forward motion but we hit two saplings which not only cushioned our impact but also prevented the Landrover from rolling over. The front axel was leaking oil and there was a break in the differential.

It was the end of the four wheel drive train but we recovered from the jarring sudden stop and brief inspection of the damage. We were off again but, at a slower pace and with less traction in the sand and undergrowth. We’d already been in the river bed for more then 20 minutes and by our reckoning we had another 20 minutes before we would get to the low water crossing.

It was looking ominus. Jordan decided to radio the Nature reserve and see if there was a helicopter available for a rescue. He at first could not raise them and I held the radio while he drove. After another 5 minutes the watch answered and I told him the details and where we were. No there was no helicopter right then but he could get one to us in 15 minutes. Would that be all right!.

No! But we would take it! He said to keep the radio open and we did.

The vehicle was labouring through the terrain in the canyon and there was no doubt we had lost maneuverability due also to the malfunctioning front wheel drive, without fourwheel drive the vehicle was almost useless in the canyons heavy terrain.

Jordan stopped the vehicle and said we had better get out of the canyon. He looked up towards the cliff where we had entered and there was another vivid blue flash.

He tried to raise the emergency line at the Nature Reserve. No response.

He said we need to get out of the water and the canyon – because if those lines fall into the water we will be electrocuted. That was enough for me! So he and I hightailed it up the bank and started climbing as fast as we could.

Then we heard the radio in the truck. Jordan went back down to the vehicle, it was the helicopter pilot on the radio. Jordan explained our predicament and position position and our escape route. But he had to get out fast he was told by the pilot and he did, scaling the rocky canyon sides in expeditious haste .

It was an amazing sight to see – we were both free and above the canyon and the waterline after the climb – there was a wall of water that swept through the canyon filling it almost to the brim .

Though we never saw it again, it probably took the vehicle with it and a lot more as well. By the time the helicopter arrived the radios in the Yukon were crackling with the disaster aready reported from the reserve as the monster volume of water avalanched down into the low-lying river areas and nearby habitation.

We did get out and that was true for many, but some did not have a chance nor the warning we had had. It was close but that was not what really bothered me.

It was my own considerations about my life – I was hiding from the world out there and the ‘recluse’ in me had been laid bare with this disaster . The shock of my immediate escape left a hollow in my stomach and I felt completely unmasked and lonely after the dash for freedom .

I knew without a doubt I had changed in these moments of urgency and it had exposed a deeper feeling of urgency about my own character strength that I had not confronted before. Emotionally I was living the outdoor life away from the madding crowd – but intelectually I was not confronting all of life around me, avoiding responsibility. It took me some time before I could actually come to terms with this revelation but ; when I accepted it I knew what was missing. It slammed into me like an asteroid.

It was such a clear powerful surge of compassion and relief because it was paydirt.

I was not being honest with myself – I lied to myself all the time – it was fake. I calmed down and for the first time in my life I felt good about me.

Then, I really knew I had escaped!